


Kill Or Cure

by orphan_account



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Grief/Mourning, In Public, Oral Sex, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elena and Alaric grief-fucking, basically. Set the summer after Jenna dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill Or Cure

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a friend on Tumblr. I put any mistakes down to the bottle of wine which accompanied me while writing this.

"You called me Ric today. In class."

Jer is in the living room. She and Alaric are in the kitchen - clearing the dishes away, ostensibly, although they’re currently in a dirty stack on the counter and haven’t been touched since they started making out, a minute or so ago. Is it still called making out if it’s with a man in his thirties? If it’s with your history teacher? He has more experience than any boy she’s ever kissed, and it shows. But it’s not like kissing the Salvatores - she can taste the salt in his beard-scruff, moisture from the summer’s heat.

"Mmm." Elena doesn’t want to talk. She wants to kiss her way out of her body, but she’ll talk if needs be, if he wants to. "So?"

His jeans press into her, denim thick enough that he can’t be blamed for the hard ridge at his crotch, pressing hot between her legs where her thin summer dress offers little barrier. “So, other people noticed. In school, I’m Mr. Saltzman.” His hands tease out the bridge between her waist and hip, her hip and the first swell of her ass.

"Mr. Saltzman…" Elena is far less subtle in her gropings. Alaric’s mouth waxes hard against hers, but he takes hold of her arm to slow her down, reminding her of where they are.

He kisses her cheek, the side of her neck, hand slipping down between her legs. But she pouts. He sighs. “We should go keep your brother company.”

"You go ahead," she says, stubbornly. "I’ll finish up."

He’s sure he imagines the look Jeremy casts his way when he opens the living room door and sits down on the couch, erection uncomfortable in the cage of his jeans and underwear. When Elena enters, her cheeks are still flushed, her dark eyes still black holes, her hair still shrouding her face like a screen. She settles down beside him on the couch, legs drawn towards her, and he can’t help but think momentarily of her pussy, hot and unsatisfied, exposed beneath her dress and underwear by the position.

It’s maybe ten minutes into the movie before she reaches for his crotch, squeezing his poor, half-hard cock carefully through his jeans. Unsubtle, yet effective. She pets him, sends pulses through him, until he’s on the edge of moaning, and knowing he can’t, not with her brother in the room, he relents and unbuttons, carefully easing his cock free. It stands so hard that he can’t even pretend not to feel relief. Elena doesn’t even look away from the screen. She just feels for him and then takes him in her fist, the friction painful through his underwear but still so welcome. She moves her hand slowly, up and down - once, twice.

Carefully, he leans his head back against the couch cushions, checking in his peripheral vision that Jeremy’s eyes are still on the television screen. They are. Her hand eases slyly beneath the lip of his unbuttoned jeans, into the damp cotton of his underwear, and-

Oh God. 

She plays at the tip first, teasing, wetting her hand with the slickness that’s gathered there. It’s a little uncomfortable for a second or two, but she knows what she’s doing, and he feels a pseudo-fatherly curiosity strike - who taught her how to do this? But then her hand is moving again - slowly still, but Alaric leans his head back harder into the couch and thanks the volume of the television for masking his breathing.

She doesn’t speed up, just strokes him - almost detachedly, he’d think, if he couldn’t feel the intensity of her attention locked in on his reaction - until he’s thrusting hot-cold against her, a violent pressure in his abdomen giving way to a shudder that locks his body, and he thrusts up, up, into her hand, coating her hand and himself in warm, slick fluid. She says nothing, just wipes her hand against his jeans and leaves him to compose himself hurriedly before the lights are switched on.

But later that night, when she cracks his door and crawls into the bed he used to share with Jenna, he knows what she wants in payment. They never talk about it, and so he never knows when she’ll appear in his bed and when she’ll just go off to masturbate, the muffled gasps coming through the wall and sending tectonic tremors through his dreamscape until he wakes up sweating. Tonight, their mouths meet in the darkness, and he presses himself hard against her.

"Ric," she murmurs woozily.

"Mr. Saltzman," he corrects her. It’s half a warning.

But, “ _Ric,_ ” she persists, and her thighs slip down either side of his chest. _Oh._

He takes her by the hips and pulls her up towards his face until the loose cotton of her pajama shorts is crushed against his chin. He purposely presses into her, feeling where her mound gives into the soft, labial hollow between her legs. Feeling the heat there. “What did you call me?” he asks, playing into it.

“Ric.” Elena’s voice is low, daring.

They’re too difficult to take off and so he mouths against her through the thin cotton, wetting it with saliva until she shifts her hips forward so that she’s above his face. He noses the leg opening of the shorts aside and delves inside. Her pussy is so warm, so wet, swollen with how long she’s been waiting. She hisses sharply when his nose brushes against her clit. She’s oversensitive. She doesn’t sound at all happy when she says his name this time.

He apologises, resolves to start over, start slow. He laps carefully at her folds, tongue tracing her wetness slowly. She tastes all Elena, and his dick tries to fatten up at the tang on his tongue, but this is for her, not him. Her hands are braced against the bedframe above him, thighs tight against the side of his face, and he has to relax her slowly. His hands slide up beneath her sleep camisole, on her waist, on her back where the pressure sits. The more he pets her with his mouth, the more her legs turn to warm toffee around him and he feels her getting wetter. He risks a lick of her cunt, where the wetness pools, and it’s soft and elastic.

When Elena is ready, she’s _ready,_ and suddenly so. Teenagers. Not that he would have been capable of this, back when he was eighteen and trying to eat a girl out for the first time.

Above him, Elena makes a sound of impatience. God, she can be bratty. “Ric!”

His hands move down and he squeezes her ass. "It's Mr. Saltzman," he breathes against her. His lips find her clit, dragging ever so gently over it until her thighs are quaking. She whines, and he tightens his grip again. She’s leaning forwards into him, presenting her ass for his hands perfectly, grinding down into him and trying to goad him. “Come _on,_ Ric.”

" _Mr. Saltzman_ ," he repeats. This time, he tongues gently over her clit and mouths it properly, and he feels her legs buckle. She gasps. Her stomach presses against his forehead, damp with sweat - the evening is so, so hot - and he can feel every little muscle shudder from deep in her abdomen where the pressure is mounting.

When she doesn’t reply, he rolls his tongue over her clit again. This time, the response is immediate - Elena bleats a “Yes, Mr. Saltzman,” without even thinking, her breathing hot and hard and high in her chest, because he can’t feel in in her diaphragm.

"Good," he mumbles, and he’s not even really thinking about it, just feeling her pussy squishing hot and sopping wet and spread out against his face, against his mouth, and speaking from his dick. He slaps the handful of ass in his hand, and sure enough - " _Mr. Saltzman._ ”

He turns his full attention on her warmed-up clit now, running hot, tongue running over and through her as if through liquid fire. She’s moving against him despite his firm grip, her full weight bearing down against his face - “Again,” she begs, and he brings his open hand down hot on her buttock with a slap that he hopes to god his brain is exaggerating the volume of - if Jeremy hears and walks in on them -

Panicked, he suckles her, and predictably she moans - and again, louder, and gives a quick jerk of her hips against him. She trembles as she comes, one hand pressed white-knuckled over her face and mouth as the other supports her against the bedframe.

When it’s over, she slides down beside him, boneless and elastic-muscled. They can’t lie together for long, but they pretend like it’s all night while her breathing - and his - slows to something respectable. Then she slips out of bed without a word and returns to her own room, leaving him to wonder if this will ever change. If this, in their own, fucked-up way, is the two of them healing, or if they’re just ripping each other gloriously further apart.


End file.
